Impromptu
by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: He needs a friendly ear, and he finds one in her. All he has to do is not say anything to screw it all up. AJ Quartermaine and Elizabeth Webber, and their spontaneous Valentine's dinner.


**A/N: Here's my hand at trying to find AJ's voice. Hope you enjoy! Please check out my other AJ/Liz one-shot, "Knot Comes Loose", the companion piece to this story. **

#

He finds the directions to her house easily, just a few clicks of his touchscreen, and he's walking in the chilly February air.

It helps clear his head. After years of living in Switzerland, he has come to associate the coldness of winters with cleanliness, with purification. Plus, he likes walking; feeling the earth underneath his feet makes up for the years he was confined to a wheelchair, unable to move.

His recovery, both of his body and mind, from his injuries and his demons, had been hard fought. Thus, the simple task of walking to Elizabeth Webber's house this night makes all the difference. Almost like cutting a path to a new beginning, something that he's been doing ever since his return to Port Charles.

He sees lights pouring from her house. So, she's home, he thinks. And then the fear sets in.

He's imposing on her goodwill and kindness, he thinks further. What right does he have to come into her home and talk about everything that's been bugging him? He doesn't have that right, not at all. He and Elizabeth have only just become…

What? What _are _they?

Acquaintances? Well, no. They've known each other far longer than that.

Friends? Maybe… it's been so long since anyone ever let him near enough to be a true friend, he's not even sure he can recognize an actual friendship if it fell into his lap.

At least her eyes no longer stared at him with contempt, the way they did back in December after his tussle with Sonny. He is grateful for that. But then, accidental meetings at the hospital and chance encounters at his office at ELQ does not necessarily mean she will be happy to see him at her house.

However, he really needs to talk to someone, and she is the first person who came to mind. He also wants to see her again. There is something so… reassuring, so comforting about being in her presence. He needs reassurance and comfort now, especially after the verbal skirmish over Pickle-Lila with Aunty Pain-in-the-Ass and her dickwad ex-husband.

He takes two breaths before reaching the first step, telling himself he is not an asshole for coming to see her on Valentine's Day to just talk, when his thoughts are interrupted by a very gruff, "'Scuse me! Comin' through!"

A hurried, sweaty florist rushes to Elizabeth's door, armed with a bouquet. He's about to toss the arrangement onto her porch like a grenade, no doubt in a mad dash to make the rest of his Valentine's Day deliveries. His anger flares, and also his embarrassment. Elizabeth shouldn't be given flowers by some delivery maniac without at least a little kindness; plus, he, himself, probably should've brought something over to her place for inconveniencing her. Not flowers, necessarily, but… something.

"Hey," he says, ignoring the man's death glare, "I can deliver those to the house."

"Yeah? You mind? I gotta whole truckful of these things to get to before the evening's up."

He takes the bouquet, careful not to crush the blossoms. He's about to say bye to the guy, but he's already hopped back into his car and driving away. He shakes his head; guess it was even too much to expect a little human decency from a total stranger.

Shutting his eyes before his finger reaches the doorbell, he says a little prayer to himself that she will at least receive him with kindness.

The moment she opens the door, he sees not contempt nor irritation in her eyes. Instead, she seems pleased to see him, surprised too, if not slightly confused.

That's when he realizes the flowers he's just given to her may have sent a different message than the one he'd been intending to give.

_#_

"You don't have any dietary restrictions, do you?" Elizabeth asks him just as she's started browning the onions and garlic for Audrey Hardy's famous Bolognese sauce. "I really don't want to put the beef in if you've sworn off meat."

He laughs as he takes a long drink of the ice cold water, complete with lemon, a small touch she had insisted on to fancy up his drink. "I'm game for anything you throw at me." He inhales the aroma of browning meat and vegetables, smells which are familiar to him from years and years of him and Jason sneaking into the kitchen to see what gastronomical delights Cook was preparing.

Granted, the sight of Elizabeth Webber, swirling around the kitchen in her skirt and flowing blouse, her long hair waving behind her, smiling as she adds ingredients to the pot as if the dish invoked her own, sweet memories of her grandmother, is a far, _far_ lovelier sight than Cook...

He coughs, choking slightly on his water as the thought pops, surprisingly, in his mind. He kicks himself and repeats, mentally, that Elizabeth is a friend, and does he really want to screw up the best friendship he's had in years?

Well, honestly, he wouldn't be AJ Quartermaine if he didn't epically screw up something so good.

"Hope you don't mind that we'll be smelling like roasted garlic for the rest of the evening," she says, her face slightly flushed, and she takes a drink of her own water. "The only drawback of making this sauce is you smell like you've been rolling around in a garlic patch all day."

He laughs, easily, heartily. "I'll suffer smelling like a garlic clove as a thank you for all your hospitality."

"AJ, please. You're my friend. You're here because I invited you. No thanks necessary. _Mi casa, es su casa._" She teasingly bumps his shoulder with her own, and he feels heat bloom in his chest at the contact.

This is not a good sign.

He distracts himself by looking around at her kitchen and her house. It is a far smaller place than the Quatermaine mansion, but it is more cozy, more intimate. Everything here is so very _Elizabeth Webber_. Warm, lush, and feminine. From the artwork on the walls to the rustic furniture with pillows and blankets and her boys' toys scattered around, to the pictures of her family and friends placed around the living room…

Elizabeth Webber is everywhere in this home.

There are photographs, stills of food and wine bottles adorning the kitchen walls. Some really great professional shots. They look like originals too, not poster prints or copies.

"Whoever took these pictures has a great eye."

Elizabeth turns to look over her shoulder and chuckles. "Oh! Well, thank you. Those are all me," she replies casually.

He gapes. "You took these pictures? They're fantastic."

"And developed them. I just wanted to try it out, see how well I could do. I have a couple of medium-format cameras and a really old, but working, large-format view camera that I use. I also rent a darkroom at a photography studio every other month or so." She grins at him. "It saves a ton of money to take pictures yourself. I plan on taking some of me and the boys next week."

He nods in awe, looking again at the beautiful black and white stills, of objects shaded in light and dark. Sure, they were only of commonplace objects, food and drink, but they moved him for some inexplicable reason.

Perhaps because they were something Elizabeth created herself.

The pictures are interspersed with her children's artwork, some framed, some held by tacks on the walls, and some held by magnets on the refrigerator.

"Your boys seem to have inherited your artistic skills."

She looks at him from the stove, clearly shocked. "You remember that?"

"What, that you paint?" He chuckles. "This may come as a surprise, but I sometimes paid attention to Emily when she'd talk about you guys. And yeah, I remember that you love painting."

Now, she is very obviously blushing. "Good memory."

"Both your sons have your talent."

She stands next to him as they look at the artwork. "We did some art therapy last year. Cam really took to it. You're right, he's got talent."

"Art therapy?" He looks at her, quizzically. "What was he in therapy for?" The moment the question leaves his mouth, he winces. "I… um. Forget I asked that. I don't mean to pry. You don't have to tell me."

"No, it's okay. The kids, well, Cam, and I were having some issues, and he was having a hard time coping with Lucky leaving, with Nik leaving, with everyone leaving. Cam felt abandoned, and he directed his anger at me. So, he started seeing a therapist, and he really responded to it." She reaches out and touches one particularly vibrant picture: there's a house, a woman with brown hair dressed in a long, flowery dress, holding hands with three small boys in a circle in front of a house.

"This one's my favorite." Her voice is soft now, slightly muffled with indecipherable emotion. "I love how he captured all of us together." He notes a slight tremor in her voice, something that was not there before.

"Who's the other boy in the circle? Is he a friend of Cam and Aiden's?"

Elizabeth's face falls, and the loveliness that radiated from her only a few seconds ago diminishes, or diminishes as much as loveliness can from Elizabeth, and he feels melancholy rolling off of her like waves. Tearless, but empty. It washes over him as she returns to her stove to stir the sauce. She says nothing, though, but covers the pot back up.

"So, about your problems with Tracy and ELQ..."

He cottons on immediately to the sudden subject change, and he goes along with it. If there is something Elizabeth is not ready to tell him, he will not force her. Regardless, a lump forms in his throat, wondering what it might be that immerses her in such sorrow, and what was it he said that elicited her reaction.

"You know," she begins again, her voice steadier now, "when my boys refuse to play nicely with their toys, I sit them apart and tell them they have two minutes to work out who gets to play with what, or how they can play together. And if they don't, then I take away one of their privileges."

He brightens, her light tone buoying him. "Are you about to compare my aunt and I to little kids?"

Elizabeth looks up at him, her eyebrow raised daringly. "I'm comparing you two to my boys, so take that as a compliment." She smirks and jabs her wooden cooking spoon in the air toward him. He smiles.

"Okay. I'm all ears."

_#_

By the time they've finished their last twirl of delicious pasta, he has mapped out most of his planned proposal to Tracy. Her boys are upstairs, and she will be checking on them soon, getting them ready for bed. He is elbow deep in hot, soapy water, scrubbing at the pot Elizabeth used to make the phenomenal Bolognese.

"I feel I should take a picture of this momentous occasion." She sits on the counter, her back against the wall, drinking her water and smirking at him. Her dainty feet dangling over the edge. It's all he can do to not reach out with his fingers and tickle her toes. "AJ Quartermaine, dishwasher."

"What? Contrary to popular belief, I've done my fair share of chores."

She raises her eyebrow, in what he determines is perhaps the sexiest use of an eyebrow anywhere on the planet. "Since when?"

"Since I was little. Whenever we'd get into trouble, Jason and I would be on kitchen and latrine duty." He snickers. "Nanny and Alice's idea of course."

She presses her fingers to her mouth, giggling. "Which means that-"

"We were _always _on kitchen and latrine duty."

Now Elizabeth throws her head back and laughs quite loudly. He is of the belief that it is the most magical sound ever. He immediately quells that thought though. Going there right now was not a good idea.

"Pretty much. Well, not Jason so much," he says, wistfully. "It was mostly me."

"Troublemaker." She sips her water.

"You know me too well," he says, with a whispered chuckle. "Emily escaped it too, but Cook and Alice were always soft with her. Not that I can blame them. She was brought into the family during a… difficult time." His voice grows heavy, remembering his mother, her battle with cancer, Emily's mother, Emily's struggles…

He looks over at Elizabeth, who smiles warmly at him. "I miss her."

"I do too. All the time."

Elizabeth pushes away from the wall and sits with her side next to his, her hands bracing on the counter. "She was like a sister to me, you know." Her eyes shift towards him. "I wonder what she'd say about us."

The way Elizabeth says, "us" makes his heart race, for reasons he'd rather not explore at the moment. "What? That we're friends now?" He puts on his best gallant tone. "That you took pity on me in my time of need, mended my wounds and decided I needed a buddy?"

"Or, that you burst into my life at a time when I needed a friend myself."

He puts the finally clean pot on the waiting towel for it to dry, and he dries his own hands with another towel Elizabeth offers to him. Their eyes meet, and, instantly, he feels his throat close up, making swallowing difficult.

"I think she'd just be happy we're friends, and that I listened to her when she said nothing but good things about you."

He grins, but he has to cast his eyes away from hers. The pull or the _something_ there between him and Elizabeth is too strong and it threatens to knock him over. "She said good things about me?"

"All the time."

"Even when I… I didn't deserve-"

"AJ." The gentle pressure of Elizabeth's hand on his shoulder causes him to stop and look up at her. "Emily never stopped believing in you. She always, _always _hoped you'd get better. I know her. I know she'd be so proud of you now."

He is still wiping his hands on the towel, but slowly, his motions automatic. He gazes at her, and sees nothing but frank honesty in her eyes.

Her very blue, very expressive eyes.

"That… that means a lot to me, Elizabeth."

She smiles, warmly, or maybe that's just the way he's feeling whenever he looks at her. And there he goes again, thinking bad, bad things, feeling things he shouldn't.

Except, he cannot help it. What red-blooded male who's been without real companionship for so long _wouldn't_ respond to a beautiful woman who treats him with nothing but kindness and respect?

He concludes immediately that he is pathetic, and probably needs to get a life. However, for now, he just wants to revel in tonight.

_#_

"Now, it really is time for me to leave," he says, at the threshold of her doorway.

"Yeah," she replies. He doesn't want to read too much into her small smile, but she looks just a little sad, maybe. Regretful. "I need to get the boys down for the night. They still have school tomorrow, and you wore them out making them laugh so much."

He shakes his head, unable to stop grinning or chuckling. "It made me think what it would've been like to play with Michael when he was their ages."

She tilts her head, regarding him with appreciative eyes. "I know it's not much comfort. You missed out on a lot of Michael's life. But you are getting to know him now. He's let you into his world."

"And I'm grateful for that."

"Remember what I said. Rebuild a little at a time."

He laughs. "That's my motto." He pivots for the door, opening it, but pauses just before he leaves.

Turning, he levels his steadiest gaze at her. "Tonight meant a lot to me. The dinner, playing with Cameron and Aiden. But also, just being around you."

If there is one thing Elizabeth Webber is horrible at, it is concealing any blush that blooms across her fair skin. He cannot help but feel pleased that he is responsible for eliciting such a reaction from her. Then he feels embarrassed when he remembers what he said.

"What I mean," he begins, shakily, hoping to clarify, "is that… being your friend has been good for me. I don't… I don't do friendships easily, as you probably know by now."

"Well, most of my friends are gone now, so I guess I don't do friendships easily either."

He wants, so desperately, to scoop her up in his arms, to touch her face and cup her cheek and kiss her right now, reassure her that he wants to be here, however he can, for her. Surprising himself, though, he refrains. He doesn't want to scare her away. He just found her. He cannot lose her.

"AJ, I'm here for you, you know?" She takes one step closer, only to reach out to take his hand. "Anytime you need to talk, or just need company."

"I… I like that." He nods. "You have me too. Anytime you need me."

There is a moment, he feels it. He knows she feels it. It crackles in the air, and there is the tiniest whisper, the smallest nudge. He thinks he could kiss her. Maybe. She might not pull away.

Instead, though, he decides to raise her hand to his lips, and lays a gentle kiss across her knuckles.

"Good night, Elizabeth."

She smiles from the doorway, waving at him. "Have a good night, AJ. Be careful."

He hears the door shut behind him and walks away. The air is still cold, the night is still very dark, but somehow, he feels warm and comforted.


End file.
